Eden Box Set

by G. C. Julien

  She extends an open hand. “I’m Madelaine.”

  “Eve,” I say, shaking her hand.

  Someone bumps into her and she jerks forward, her head bobbing back and forth. She lets out a cute laugh and dismisses the whole thing. Obviously, that happens a lot in a crowd like this.

  “Don’t mind the crowd,” she says. “More and more of us are waking up.”

  “Waking up?” I ask.

  She tilts her head to the side, her helmet hair following. “You know—realizing what’s going on in this world. Realizing that men have lost control, and it’s time for women to finally take a stand. Now that we’re outnumbering them, we’re in a position to do it.”

  I nod slowly. I’m not sure what to say. I’ve never been to one of these underground meetings before. But I do agree with her—I agree that men are the cause of destruction in this world. That could be enough to warrant my being here.

  “My son won’t be like the men you see these days,” she says. “He’ll know who runs the household, and if he ever steps out of line—” But the chaotic sound of a microphone turning on silences her.

  I turn toward the stage.

  “Thank you for coming,” says the woman with the long black braid.

  Someone must have plugged in the microphone.

  “I see many of you got word of our new location tonight.” Her voice is soft and captivating. She searches the crowd, taking a moment to make eye contact with as many women as she can.

  “There are a few new faces around the room today,” she says, and my stomach sinks.

  Are we standing out? I feel like an imposter.

  “For those of you who may not know me, my name is Bethany Lee.”

  Someone whistles and she shakes her head, a modest smile on her face. “I have been organizing these meetings for seven months, as many of you already know.”

  Another whistle, but this time, she doesn’t smile. She walks across the stage, then paces back and raises her square chin. “If you’re standing here tonight, it’s because you’ve said to yourself, ‘Enough is enough.’”

  There’s a sudden uproar with women clapping and cheering.

  “Enough inequality,” she continues, leaning toward the crowd.

  Loud cheering erupts.

  She punches a fist through the air. “Enough dominance.”

  Someone whistles again.

  “Enough being subjected to laws, words, and images that brainwash you into believing you’re less because you’re a woman!” she shouts, her last word almost a growl.

  “If you’re here tonight…” she pauses, staring intently into the crowd, “you’re saying No to male superiority.”

  Everyone cheers so loud that the walls around us shake. I stare at Bethany in absolute awe. How does she generate so much energy? So much passion?

  My ears are ringing and people are bumping into me as they jump up and down, but for some reason—and despite my hatred of being touched—it doesn’t bother me.

  I want to be here.

  CHAPTER 20 – GABRIEL

  Gabriel – Present Day

  “I can’t see a damn thing,” Castor says, searching through the grass on his hands and knees. His butt crack is showing under the moonlight, and he’s crawling around like a homeless person trying to find cigarette butts.

  What he’s really looking for, though, is a keychain he dropped when his backpack snapped off his shoulder. He says it used to belong to his little girl and that he’s not going anywhere until he finds it.

  I wish I had a flashlight to help him out, but I don’t carry anything with me. I prefer to travel without equipment. Maybe it’s stupid. Maybe I should be getting myself a bag and loading it with food or weapons, but I haven’t come around to doing it.

  “What’s it look like?” I ask him. I brush through the colorless grass with my boot.

  “It’s a silver circle,” he says. “It has the letter ‘E’ inside of it.”

  Poor guy sounds so heartbroken. I wonder what happened to his little girl. Was she killed? Taken away? I know a lot of dads had their kids taken from them when the women disappeared. When they decided to band together against men.

  “What was her name?” I ask him.

  He doesn’t answer me. I assume Eliza because ten years ago, that was one of the most popular girl names. Or, Emma. That one was popular, too. I get it, though. He doesn’t want to talk about it. I don’t blame him. Most days, I’m thankful I didn’t have children, but other days, I feel like a part of me is missing. All I ever wanted was to marry a loving woman and have kids with her. I wanted a family.

  I get down on my hands and knees and start looking for his daughter’s keychain. He turns to me, but he doesn’t say a thing. He doesn’t have to. I know he’s thankful.

  The grass is cool and dry. I run my fingers through it, and it tickles my face. God, I miss lawnmowers. Everything is growing so fast out here.

  I touch something cold against the tips of my fingers and I scoop it up. In my hand is a silver emblem shining under the moon. On it, there’s an E.

  “Found it,” I say.

  Castor squeals like a pig and plucks it out of my hand. He kisses it over and over, before sliding it into his front pocket.

  “You hoping to find her?” I ask him.

  At first, he doesn’t respond, but then, he lets out a long sigh. “Been hopin’ to find her for over seven years now after all hell broke loose in this country.”

  “Wife took her?”

  He nods.

  What I want to ask him is: Do you honestly think she’s still alive? But I’m not heartless. I know there’s a good chance his daughter’s dead. I’d never say it, though. Hope’s the only thing keeping this man alive.

  I only met Castor six months ago, when I got caught up with Adam’s crew. I have no idea how long he was with them before I arrived.

  “Any idea where she might be?” I ask.

  He stops walking and turns toward me as the sun starts rising in the distance. It makes the sky look like cotton candy: orange, pink, and purple.

  “If she’s alive,” he says, “she’s either with her mother or with other women.”

  I’m surprised to hear him say that. I didn’t think he’d be willing to admit there’s a chance she’s dead.

  “Any idea where they might have gone?” I ask.

  He shakes his head, but his eyes go huge. I can see his features better now: bushy eyebrows, a nose as round as a clown’s, a curly beard, and eyes that look like they’re permanently sad. He slowly lifts his hairy arm and points a stiff finger toward the orange horizon.

  I follow his finger.

  “Right there,” he says, but I have no idea what he’s pointing at. “Alpa.”

  He looks like a lunatic with his mouth open like that. What the hell are we staring at? I glance at him and lift an eyebrow. “What’s Alpa?”

  Gabriel – Flashback

  I can’t believe this. There’s no way this is real. I’m dreaming, right?

  Only two hours ago, we were debriefed on a situation in New York City. The streets have been overtaken by female rioters, and they’ve created a barrier around the entire city.

  Anyone of the female gender is to be terminated immediately.

  The words keep bouncing around in my head like a song, and I’m sitting quietly in a Black Hawk chopper. We’re on our way to New York now, and I feel sick to my stomach.

  I look around the helicopter at the men in combat gear. I can’t see their faces, but I know the second guy on the left is Alex, my bunkmate. I can’t talk to him, though. I haven’t been able to get a word through for the last month. He never talks to me. In fact, no one does. It’s like they’ve all had their personalities erased over the last few months. I suppose that’s what brainwashing does to people. I still don’t understand how I’m still alive or how I’ve survived any of this. I’ve had to fake my way to where I am. I’ve seen countless men in my class disappear. They couldn’t assimilate. And I do
n’t blame them. The things they’ve been showing us are enough to traumatize anyone. But the ones who couldn’t handle it should have faked it like I did. They should have played along, or at least tried to. Maybe they’d still be alive. I’m not an idiot. I know they were killed. They knew too much. If I’m not careful, they’ll do the same to me.

  I can see the Statue of Liberty. It looks like a little toy figure. Then, out of the other window, I see a dozen more helicopters closing in on the city.

  “Fucking bitches have what’s coming to them,” says the man sitting across from me.

  He’s dressed like the rest of us: black swat gear, a helmet, a cloth over the lower part of his face, and a semiautomatic gun on his lap. I’m panicking inside. If I don’t shoot my gun, they’ll notice. But at the same time, I can’t take innocent lives. I can’t start killing women.

  The moment we’ve reached our target, the pilot lowers the chopper above a high-rise building, and we’re ordered to rappel out. I’m the last man to jump out, and the moment my feet touch the concrete rooftop, an explosion shakes the city.

  Preserve the city, I remember General Fletcher telling us. The blast sure as hell didn’t come from us.

  “Move, move, move!”

  Everyone shuffles to the door sitting in the middle of a concrete block, and we go down the building’s staircase. The sound of gunshots fills the air outside, and my heart is beating so hard I can feel it against my bulletproof vest.

  We reach the main floor, and I realize we’re in a hotel. Women are hiding inside the main lobby. They probably didn’t want anything to do with this riot. There’s a middle-aged woman crouched by the elevators, and one of the men on my squad raises his gun and aims it at her face.

  “Please,” she cries out, the little red hairs of her head dancing because she’s shaking so bad. “I don’t want—” and he shoots her square in the face. Blood and brain matter splatters on the gold doors behind her.

  I want to kill the son of a bitch. The woman didn’t do anything wrong. She was just sitting there. What the fuck is wrong with him? Is that Alex? I can’t even tell. I have to take a deep breath because if I don’t calm down, I’ll shoot him in the back.

  Another woman hides behind the reception desk, and she runs as soon as she sees us. Our squad leader shoots her in the ankle. She falls flat on the floor, her hands making a clapping noise against the tiles. She cries out in pain.

  “Goddamn bitch,” he says and makes his way to her squirming body.

  He grabs her by the back of the hair and lifts her up even though she can barely stand because she’s in so much pain.

  “You think you’ll be let off that easy?” he says. He wraps his big gloved hands around her arm and pulls so hard that there’s a snap, and she screams out in agony.

  I stiffen and tighten my fingers around my gun. What is he doing? The two other men in my squad laugh and join him. I can tell one of those laughs is coming from Alex. He’s exactly like the rest of them. A disgusting piece of shit. The tallest of the bunch slowly pushes his steel-toed military boot on her foot and rests his weight.

  She yells out again and falls to the ground. Her face is all wet and shiny because she’s crying so much.

  “Shouldn’t have tried to revolt,” the guy says, and I realize it’s Alex. He grabs her by the back of the hair and pulls downward so her throat is sticking out.

  My heart’s racing and my vision’s getting fuzzy. Why are they doing this? She hasn’t done anything. The marine standing behind her (the one who seems to be helping Alex) sticks his finger in her mouth to and forces it open. She gags a few times, and then Alex unbuttons his pants and pulls out his penis.

  I realize that I’m slowly raising my gun because the only thing I want to do right now is shoot the three of them dead—Alex, the other guy, and the squad leader. They’re all pieces of shit who deserve to die.

  They burst out laughing when Alex starts pissing in her mouth. She gags again, but the squad lead holds her face in place.

  I can’t. I just can’t.

  I raise my rifle and fire a dozen rounds at the three of them. The sound of empty shells against tile echoes throughout the lobby and the smell of burning climbs up into my nose.

  The woman throws up a pool of stomach acid, then slowly turns my way. Her hair is all over her face, sticking to sweat and pieces of puke. She’s shaking like a leaf.

  I slowly walk toward her, but she flinches like a wounded animal. I know she must hate me right now. She must think I’m like the rest of them. I don’t deserve her kindness, even if I defended her. I take off my helmet and kneel in front of her, right beside Alex’s dead body.

  She’s staring at me from behind moist blue eyes, and her chest is bouncing up and down because she’s breathing so hard.

  “I know this doesn’t mean much,” I say, “but… I’m so sorry. You don’t deserve this. None of you do.”

  Her golden eyebrows nearly touch at the middle, and I can’t tell if she’s upset or confused.

  I tear off part of my squad lead’s sleeve, and I wrap it around her leg. She yelps out in pain again, but she knows I’m just trying to help. She doesn’t push me away.

  “You need to apply pressure,” I say.

  She’s staring at me like a caged circus animal. A combination of curiosity and hatred.

  “Can I see?” I ask, and I take off my cut-proof gloves. I hold her leg, trying to be as gentle as possible, and it seems to calm her. “You’re lucky,” I say. “The bullet went clean through.”

  She wipes bits of yellow vomit off her bottom lip. “Why are you helping me?”

  I hesitate. How am I supposed to answer that? But the first thought that comes to my head somehow comes out of my mouth. “Because I’m not a monster.”

  “They are,” she says, glaring at the dead bodies around her.

  She’s right.

  “Keep the pressure on there,” I say. “You won’t be getting medical care anytime soon, so you’ll have to keep an eye on it. Is there any alcohol in this building? Any first aid kits? Anything at all that can disinfect the wound?”

  She nods. “In the staff kitchen.”

  “You work here?” I ask.

  She nods again. I notice she’s wearing a name tag, and it reads: Josephine Taylor.

  “Josephine,” I say, and her eyes light up. “I’m Gabriel.”

  She smirks at me. “Like the angel.”

  I look down at my clothes. At my big black leather boots and my padded swat gear. “I wouldn’t call myself an angel.”

  She doesn’t seem to think my job makes me a bad person.

  “Listen,” I say, “before you go to the staff room, I’d suggest you take one of their uniforms and lay low. When this is over, you can walk right out of here.”

  “Pretend to be a man?” she asks.

  I shrug. “Yeah. I know it’s shitty, but it’s your only option. They’re killing every woman in sight.”

  I want to throw up myself. I want to do more, like go outside and fire at every man I see, but I know it won’t change anything. I’ll have both men and women coming after me.

  She nods quickly. “Okay, I’ll take his,” she says, and she points at the leader because he’s the smallest one of the bunch. “But first, I need you to come with me.”

  I blink.

  “To the staff room,” she says.

  “You need help?” I ask. “I can walk you there.”

  I get up and I’m about to wrap my arm underneath her, but she shakes her head. “Help would be nice, but no, that’s not why. See those?” She points up at every corner in the lobby, where small black cameras are aimed downward. “The main drive is in the security room beside the staff lounge.” She pulls out an ID card from her bra. “You’ll probably want to wipe that drive after what you’ve done here.”

  CHAPTER 21 – LUCY

  Lucy – Present Day

  With my face pressed up against the iron gate of my room, I stick my nose out into the cor
ridor.

  “What’s going on?” Emily asks.

  I shush her and tell her to stay on my bed. The alarm finally stopped buzzing, but no one’s leaving their rooms. Is there a threat that we don’t know about? Is it unsafe to step out into the open?

  The sound of heels against tiled floor echoes across the walls, and I pull my face away from the bars, my hands still gripped tight around them.

  “Who’s coming?” Emily whispers.

  I shake my head. How am I supposed to know? I can’t see that far. But when I hear her familiar voice, I feel calm.

  “It’s okay, children. Everything is okay,” Mrs. Greensmith says.

  What follows next is the sound of keys rattling, gates opening, and voices spreading like wildfire. She’s unlocking the doors.

  “Shhh,” Mrs. Greensmith says. “No need to get all excited, now.”

  I light up when she finally reaches my room. She does a double take when she sees Emily sitting on my bed, her big gray eyes popping out over her glasses that are dangling off the tip of her nose.

  “There’s two of us, Mrs. Greensmith,” I say.

  She looks confused… as though she’s seeing double, or something.

  Then, her eyebrows come together. I know what’s she’s thinking. She’s thinking we broke the rule. When the alarm goes off, everyone is supposed to go back to their rooms and lock themselves in.

  “She didn’t have time,” I say quickly.

  Her wrinkled frown disappears and the loose skin of her face stretches like she wants to smile, but she doesn’t. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I must need new glasses.”

  I love Mrs. Greensmith. You would think that out of all the teachers, the oldest one would be the most uptight, but Mrs. Greensmith has always been a rule-bender. Her priority is the kids of Eden.

  She slides her fat skeleton key into the gate’s keyhole and unlatches the lock.

  “Is there even a copy of that key?” I ask her, stepping out.

  She tilts her head and jiggles the keys in front of me. “Always thinking about every scenario, aren’t you, Lucy?”